


Gotta Love ‘em!

by chicagotime



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Cute, Multi, polycule, san francisco lovers, sitcom-like?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicagotime/pseuds/chicagotime
Summary: A day in the life of the Lovers (or, I love the Lovers and here they are, all 15 of them, for your reading pleasure)
Relationships: Knight Triumphant/Percival Wheeler
Kudos: 10





	Gotta Love ‘em!

**Author's Note:**

> The day begins!

We see the city of San Francisco, the real city of love (move over Paris!), tiny cottages and bungalows and other cute little houses encircling a spiral of steel and glass spires, each larger than the next, reaching into the sky as if they are trying to caress it, but can never get close enough.

And in the very middle of this spiral, in the heart of San Francisco, is the Polydome.

It’s a large translucent dome that sparkles in the bright light of the sun, covered in large hexagonal steel scaffolding. The soft pink glass winks at us, and you fight the urge to blush. You fail, because of course you do, this is the heart of the city of love, dammit. We pass through the glass while your face tries to get rid of the blush, which makes you blush even more. We arrive on the field, every blade of grass and stadium seat and concession stand and blank billboard and unlit scoreboard vibrant and softly glowing with a power that you know, but can’t explain.

We head into the common room now, where we see Our Players, an assortment of individuals wearing chain mail and tunics and aprons and little squire shorts and a fedora hat and several other things that represent a variety of things in a variety of ways lounging around for what seems like the first time in days.

A carpenter of many faces, wearing an apron stuffed with tools of every description, gently whittles a wooden crown while discussing the nuances of his craft with an elaborately dressed king with a golden crown of his own, his cape so lush that it should be floating above the ground, gently shedding tufts of red and white and blue.

A man wearing a full coat of pinstriped armor with no helmet and a fedora lazily argues with a misty silhouette holding a subpoena, who seems to be far more invested in the conversation.

A bipedal, humanoid goat lies on the floor next to a wooden sign that says ‘BONTGOMERY MULLOCK’, talking wistfully about nature that can only be found elsewhere. A small dandelion sprouts from the sign in response.

Three women are lovingly entangled on a couch, each somehow making the chainmail they wear look cool and comfortable, an impossible feat. One, a pink gorgon, strokes the hair of another, a succubus with bright pink skin, who is kissing the cheek of the third, a human with purple hair and heart-shaped, rose-tinted spectacles, who tenderly strokes the gorgon’s hand with her thumb. A dark-skinned brunette with coral tattoos that light up her arms sits next to them, content to share in their love without engaging in physical contact.

Two squires sit in a corner, both silent and dressed in extravagantly childish clothing, complete with puffed-up pantaloons and long-sleeved shirts with equally puffed-up shoulders. One, a black figure, slowly emits four-dimensional shapes that float into nothingness as they stare at the ground. The other, a misty-eyed woman with slightly singed hair, stares into a horizon we cannot see or fathom.

Here are Our Players, bar two, who are arriving now!

Two Knights loudly slam open the door and enter the room, blowing bright white horns with intricate carvings of medieval lovers. One has a suit built for business, all dull steel and straight, sharp edges with peeling paint on the chest trying to depict the Lovers’ Crest. Their wooden bat is sheathed and clacks against the armour as they walk in. A single, heavily beaten, cotton candy pink feather sprouts from the back of the helmet and droops sadly, which shouldn’t be possible for a feather.

The other Knight has a suit built for the pleasure of always being the most extravagant person in the room. It’s built of iron and silver with more than a hint of gold, and glistens in the artificial light. Each joint has at least one blood red heart that glistens, and if you look closely enough, you can see them moving, pumping some unknown, unseen liquid to places you don’t want to know about. On its chest a fresh coat of paint brandishes the Crest like a weapon that no one asked it to show anyone, let alone wield it, someone could get hurt, jeez. From their helmet erupts a multitude of red feathers, all incredibly soft and curling slightly to form an intricate pattern that looks unbelievably impractical for a Knight. But they don’t care, of course they don’t, just look at their bat, a deep, polished mahogany that carries the signature of the wielder and every manner of Lovers logo like a narcissistic athlete’s dream.

But enough about them! Other things are happening! The horns are blowing, and everyone else is scrambling to form a single line in front of them. Visors are covering the Knights’ faces, but you can tell they’re secretly proud of their teammates’ discipline. In your mind’s eye, you see a montage of countless hours of dust clouds and various limbs scrambling and slamming into each other, the Knights pinching the tips of their visors in the background, and you feel a strong urge to call a parent and thank them for everything, because you were such a mess, holy crap.

The extravagant Knight doesn’t lift their visor, but their voice is still clear, the product of hours of voice projection in their room when they were 14 and bored. “Greetings, my Lovers! I hope you are all well!”

A few mumbles sneak out of some mouths.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Yes, Knight.”

“Haha! Excellent!” A scroll with surprisingly fresh paper is extracted from somewhere and unraveled. The leaner Knight rolls her eyes. “We have two emergencies today! One, as you may have heard, is located in the Spires of Capitalistic Sin - oh, Percival, you really don’t have to - “

The scroll is captured by the other Knight! A Smash Bros-like graphic appears near their torso, screaming **_Percival Wheeler_ Believes In Tough Love!** The other Lovers either can’t see it or are too terrified to say anything. “Alright guys, we’ve got, uhh… a guy in the Spires who’s still simping for money… or whatever... and a domestic who has... a mid-life crisis going on, I think? Anyway, dibs on the simp.” She glares at the hands of a few members of the line who clench them slightly, about to embark on a glorious fist bump, before realizing that Knight Wheeler is still watching and loosen dejectedly, their celebration thwarted by their boss and also collective girlfriend. “Anything else, Triumfart?”

Several tufts of feather flap around on the helmet as it turns around. “Gasp! Knight Wheeler! This disrespect is most out of turn, _especially in front of our team!_ ”

Percival lifts their visor, revealing a smirk that shows teeth. “ _And what are you gonna do about it?_ ”

Knight Triumphant’s visor, once a gleaming grey, turns a deep red. For a moment, time stops, as the two Lovers stare at each other with a mix of hatred and admiration and that feeling you get when you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or just kiss someone, kiss them and never let go -

Someone coughs. The Lovers retreat, shuffling their feet and staring at opposite corners of the room. ‘Right’s and ‘Sorry’s and ‘Let us embark’s and ‘I do apologize for being out of turn, this was a transgression of the highest order’s slip from lips and pool together on the floor, staining the floorboard-patterned carpet.

After a while, Knight Triumphant regains composure, the drooping feathers straightening again. “Alright! Let us commence our endeavours!”

The line cheers, some even yelling the team slogan without making it sound awkward. This isn’t hard, because we all love each other here.

We see fifteen Lovers, of various shapes and sizes, leave the stadium on horseback. Seven horses turn left, towards the remnants of a bygone era. Eight horses turn right, towards a warm future.

These are the San Francisco Lovers, and we will see them go all the way to heal their city.

**Author's Note:**

> I will write more to this probably at some point maybe yes


End file.
